


we hold these truths

by empressearwig



Category: The President's Daughter series - Ellen Emerson White
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressearwig/pseuds/empressearwig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern romance in seven parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we hold these truths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hydrangea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangea/gifts).



> Many thanks to all the people that helped with this. Hydrangea, I hope you enjoy this!

i.

The subject line of Beth's email simply read **explain** and Meg opened it, curious as to what she'd done now. Being the most junior law clerk at the First Circuit Court of Appeals didn't leave a great deal of time to have even imaginary peccadillos to be sprawled across the internet. Which was a shame, really. Meg missed having peccadilloes.

The body of the email was a link to the most salacious (and therefore Meg's favorite) of the D.C. gossip blogs, and Meg clicked on it, glad she was on her personal phone and not any of her federal government issued electronic devices. She wasn't sure that she'd want whatever this was to come up in her internet history. One never knew with either Beth or with gossip sites that didn't bother with even the pretense of truth.

But--and she squinted at the picture and then enlarged it just to be sure--there was nothing salacious about this picture. It was a picture that shouldn't exist, certainly, one of her and Preston at the party her parents had thrown last month at the Plaza for her law school graduation, but it wasn't _prurient_. It wasn't even mildly titillating.

"Call Beth's cell," Meg instructed her phone, lifting it to her ear as it rang. She didn't have to wait long for Beth to answer.

"Well?" Beth demanded in lieu of greeting. 

Two could play at that game. "Have your attempts to be the first-year associate with the most billable hours in Gage Whitney history driven you around the bend?" Meg asked. She was only half kidding. Beth's hours were crazier than hers, and that shouldn't have been humanly possible. "There's nothing in that picture."

"You're wrong about that," Beth said. "And I imagine you'll be getting a call from a certain ex-President to that effect this evening."

"My mother doesn't visit Reliable Sources," Meg said. She frowned, reconsidered. "Well, maybe she does. The former first gentleman denied all knowledge as to why it came up in the list of most frequently visited sites on their iPad at Christmas."

"Even if she doesn't," Beth said, sounding entirely too amused, "I forwarded the link to Neal and Steven. What are the odds that one of _them_ won't make sure she sees it?"

It was a step too far. "You're a terrible friend," Meg accused.

"It's a wonder you've kept me around for so long," Beth agreed.

Meg smiled. Just a little.

"But I do have to go," Beth said. "I think I saw Michael Young come in with an entire week's worth of suits this morning."

The sneer with which Beth said his name was something Meg very much wanted to explore since she was 95% sure Beth was also sleeping--or not sleeping as the case may be--with her primary rival. But perhaps she'd save that for another day, when Beth least expected it. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

"Fine," Meg said instead. "But you're still wrong about that picture."

"I'm really not," Beth said, and promptly hung up before Meg could get another word in edgewise.

And okay, _that_ was why they were still friends. Even if Beth was very, very wrong about whatever she'd thought she'd seen. She'd have to email Beth some articles on the ties between sleep deprivation and hallucinations later. After all, wasn't that what friends were for?

ii.

> From: Steven Powers [powers.34@stanford.edu]   
> To: Meg Powers [m.v.powers@gmail.com]  
> CC: Neal Powers [npowers@andover.edu]  
> Date: Mon, Jun 9, 2014 at 8:30 AM  
> Subject: Something you want to tell us?
> 
> I'll give you a hint: Meg and Preston sitting in a tree...

> From: Neal Powers [npowers@andover.edu]  
> To: Steven Powers [powers.34@stanford.edu]  
> CC: Meg Powers [m.v.powers@gmail.com]  
> Date: Mon, Jun 9, 2014 at 11:35 AM  
> Subject: Re: Something you want to tell us?
> 
> K-I-S-S-I-N-G

> From: Meg Powers [m.v.powers@gmail.com]  
> To: Neal Powers [npowers@andover.edu]  
> CC: Steven Powers [powers.34@stanford.edu]  
> Date: Mon, Jun 9, 2014 at 11:42 AM  
> Subject: I hate you both
> 
> Et tu, Neal?
> 
> Steven, when you fail all your finals, I'm telling mom that it was because of your crippling internet addiction. And porn.

> From: Steven Powers [powers.34@stanford.edu]  
> To: Meg Powers [m.v.powers@gmail.com]  
> CC: Neal Powers [npowers@andover.edu]  
> Date: Mon, Jun 9, 2014 at 8:46 AM  
> Subject: I think you mean you love us
> 
> I'm not hearing a denial in there.

> From: Meg Powers [m.v.powers@gmail.com]  
> To: Steven Powers [powers.34@stanford.edu]  
> CC: Neal Powers [npowers@andover.edu]  
> Date: Mon, Jun 9, 2014 at 11:51 AM  
> Subject: Nope, I'm good with hate
> 
> Did either of you peasants forward that email to our parents?

> From: Neal Powers [npowers@andover.edu]  
> To: Meg Powers [m.v.powers@gmail.com]  
> CC: Steven Powers [powers.34@stanford.edu]  
> Date: Mon, Jun 9, 2014 at 11:53 AM  
> Subject: Re: Nope, I'm good with hate
> 
> Me!

> From: Steven Powers [powers.34@stanford.edu]  
> To: Meg Powers [m.v.powers@gmail.com]  
> CC: Neal Powers [npowers@andover.edu]  
> Date: Mon, Jun 9, 2014 at 8:54 AM  
> Subject: Re: Nope, I'm good with hate
> 
> Me.

> From: Meg Powers [m.v.powers@gmail.com]  
> To: Steven Powers [powers.34@stanford.edu]  
> CC: Neal Powers [npowers@andover.edu]  
> Date: Mon, Jun 9, 2014 at 11:55 AM  
> Subject: Re: Nope, I'm good with hate
> 
> Off with your heads.

iii.

"This is Meg. Leave a message." _Beeeeeeep._

"Meg, this is your mother. Your brothers forwarded a very interesting e-mail to my attention, which I suspect you already knew and that you're screening as a result. I'll allow it, since I know that you're at work. Call me this evening, please. And say hello to Sandra for me."

iv.

The phone at Meg's desk rang and she picked it up without looking away from the draft opinion she was rereading. "Meg Powers."

"You tramp," said Juliana's voice.

Meg let herself groan just a little. It was only two o'clock and it had already been more than a day. She was allowed. "Hello to you, too."

"I thought the two of you looked awfully chummy at that party," Juliana said.

Meg tucked the phone into her shoulder and rubbed her forehead with her good hand. "You've thought that every time you've seen us together for the entire time you've known me."

"Because it's always been true."

Meg suppressed the urge to groan again. "Was there a reason for this call other than to harass me about my fictional love life?"

"Nope," Juliana said cheerfully. "Well, to remind you that we're getting lunch when I'm in town for my conference next week. You can either tell me everything or you can buy."

"I'll buy," Meg said, not caring in the slightest how Juliana was going to take that. "Goodbye, Juliana."

Meg hung up the phone and forwarded all her calls to voicemail. She looked longingly at the bottle of pain medication that was sitting next to her stapler, but that was for real emergencies, not friends- and- family-induced tension headaches. Unfortunately.

v. 

Meg nodded to her parents Secret Service agents as she let herself into the house. She dropped her briefcase to the floor and called out, "Anyone home?"

She didn't wait for an answer, but headed back to the kitchen, because it was surely where her parents were. Between running her charitable foundation and acting as the Democratic party's senior stateswoman, her mother's primary post-presidential hobby seemed to be coming up with new and different ways to ruin perfectly innocent food. And sure enough, her mother was standing over the charred remains of something on the stove, while her father sat at the kitchen table, frowning at the newspaper that her parents stubbornly clung to even though Meg and Steven had often pointed out that it was the environmentally unfriendly choice to make when digital subscriptions existed.

"Hi, Mom," Meg said. She dutifully pressed a kiss to her cheek. "What did you ruin this time?"

Her mother frowned at her. "Tact, child."

"I'm sorry," Meg said innocently. "Was it supposed to be burned like that?"

Her father laughed. "You really don't have a leg to stand on, Katie."

Her mother waved a hand through the air. "Fine, fine." She nudged Meg towards the kitchen table. "Go sit down, put your leg up. Is Chinese fine?"

Meg went, kissing her father's cheek before dropping into the chair next to him. She pulled another chair closer so that she could put her leg up, because frankly, that was an amazing idea. "Sounds perfect."

"Russ?"

He nodded. "But get spring rolls this time."

"And cold sesame noodles too, okay, Mom?"

Her mother looked amused. "Anything else while I'm taking orders?"

Meg looked at her father. "You know she's missing her ability to issue presidential-type threats."

He nodded again. "I'm sure that she is."

"You two are terrible," her mother said. She stalked out of the kitchen, presumably in search of a telephone. 

Meg and her father grinned at each other.

"Not that I'm not happy to see you," he said, picking his newspaper back up in a way that was entirely too casual to actually be that. "But what do we have to thank for this impromptu visit?"

Meg narrowed her eyes at him. "You saw."

Her father refused to meet her eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

" _Dad_ ," Meg said, and his face crumpled. 

"Your mother and I do talk, Meg," he said defensively. He looked at her with a sheepish expression. "And I was reading over her shoulder when she opened it."

Meg raised an eyebrow, but didn't press the matter. "It's nothing."

"It didn't look like nothing," he said. "But we can talk about that when your mother gets back."

"Mom!" Meg called out, her eyes never leaving her father's face. "Come back so we can talk about how I'm not dating Preston!"

As if on cue, her mother reappeared in the kitchen, phone still in her hand. "Already?" she asked. "You wouldn't rather have this conversation on a full stomach?"

"No," Meg said, shaking her head. "I don't believe that I would."

Her parents traded capital L looks and then her mother took the chair opposite Meg's. "Meg," she said carefully, in the way she always did when she was worried about how Meg would react to something she was about to say. "If you were dating Preston--and I'm not asking you to confirm or deny that you are--you know that we wouldn't mind. We adore Preston."

"But?" Meg prompted, when her mother hesitated.

They traded another significant look, and then her father continued. "But," he said, "Preston is a great deal older than you are. We have concerns."

Meg concentrated very hard on keeping her face neutral, not because she was angry in the way she knew they were afraid of, but because she was worried that if she didn't, she'd start laughing. "Such as?"

Her mother leaned forward, a terribly earnest expression on her face. "Well, have the two of you really thought this through? You've been friends for such a long time--what if this doesn't work out?"

"Mom," Meg said, giving in and letting some of her exasperation seep through. "Don't you think that if we were dating--and I'm not saying that we are or that we aren't--that's exactly the kind of thing Preston and I _would_ have considered? You know, both of us possessing a great deal of common sense and political acumen, and all."

Her mother frowned at that and shot her father a look. "She may have a point, Russ."

"Yes," he agreed. He reached over and touched her arm. "We just want you to be happy. And we worry. You have to give us that much, Meg."

She let herself smile a little. "I'm here, aren't I?"

The doorbell rang, sparing them the rest of what promised to devolve into the type of sappy conversation that none of them was entirely comfortable with. And as if that point needed proving, her mother almost knocked over her chair in her haste to escape. "I'll just go get that, shall I?"

Her father watched her go with amused fondness on his face and then turned back to Meg. "So," he said, "how about those Red Sox?"

When her mother came back in with the bags of food, they were both still laughing.

vi.

It was nearly nine before Meg made it back to her condo in Cambridge. She kicked off her shoes at the door and set her briefcase down on the kitchen counter. She opened the refrigerator to pull out a half empty bottle of chardonnay and plucked a wine glass from the drying rack in the sink. 

Drink in hand, she wandered over to her couch, sinking down into it with considerable relief. With her good hand, she rubbed at her knee. She would always be grateful for how far it had come, for the fact that she only needed a cane on her truly bad days and not as a matter of survival. But god, she really missed not feeling like an old woman sometimes. 

She drank her wine and turned on her iPad, firing up the Skype app. She dialed a number that was already programmed in and waited. She didn't have to wait long.

"I was wondering if I'd see you tonight," Preston said, as his handsome face filled her screen. "It's getting late."

Meg raised an eyebrow at that. "Late? _Pfft_."

"Late for this," Preston amended. "Were you stuck at work?"

Meg shook her head. She wished she'd been stuck at work. Though the Chinese had been nice. "My mother ordered a command appearance."

"Oh?" Preston asked. "What was the occasion?"

"You know goddamn well what the occasion was," Meg said, doing her best to sound stern by succumbing to laughter before she'd finished the sentence. "Don't pretend like Steven didn't forward that link to you too."

Preston laughed, Meg could only assume at the disgruntled expression on her face. "Fine, I won't."

"And?" Meg said.

This time he was the one to shake his head. "I'm not going to say I told you so, Meg."

"You're allowed," she said. "You said that they'd find out."

"Yes," he acknowledged. "But I have been doing this longer than you."

"That seemed to be the bulk of my parents concerns," she said. "That and their misguided belief that you and I are apparently idiots who wouldn't have thought the potential ramifications of dating through before we began doing so."

"You're their daughter, Meg. They're never going to be entirely rational about you."

"I know," she said. 

Silence hung between them then, comfortable in the way that silence was when it was with someone you've known forever. Comfortable in the way that silence was when it was with someone you--

"We should tell them," she said, cutting off her errant, sappy thoughts. "Today sucked. I don't like lying to people I actually like."

"Are you sure?" Preston asked. "We don't have to. Whenever you're ready, Meg. There's no hurry."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "But I think I am. If I can tell you that I love you--however rarely that happens--I should be able to tell them that too."

He smiled at her gently. "I love you too, Meg."

She let herself smile back. "I know."

vii.

**Exclusive confirmation: A new Washington power couple in the making?**

Posted by Candace Stanton on June 15, 2014 at 3:45 p.m.

Former First Daughter, Meg Powers, and Former White House Communications Director, Preston Fielding, were spotted out and about holding hands in downtown Boston yesterday morning. If you'll recall, we posted a picture of them looking awfully chummy at Meg's graduation party last week, but it's always nice to get confirmation of the juiciest gossip, and this, my friends, is juicy. 

Following her graduation from Harvard Law last month, Meg is currently serving as a law clerk at the First Circuit Court of Appeals. After his departure from the Powers administration, Preston Fielding opened his own communications firm with Annabeth Schott, late of the the Santos Administration. Their firm, Fielding & Schott, has offices in both Philadelphia and Washington. If the romance between Powers and Fielding continue to flourish, can an office in Boston be far behind? 

Watch this space for future developments.


End file.
